Where Stories Go
by ninemuses
Summary: Pique and Lilie face a brave new world.


**Notes: **Many thanks to meganbmoore for the beta. Originally written for Yuletide 2008.

* * *

><p>"I had the strangest dream last night," Lilie told Pique one morning as they walked to class.<p>

"Oh?" It wasn't the most enthusiastic of responses, but Lilie saying she had a strange dream was like anyone else saying _the sky is blue_ or _the grass is green_ or _Mytho is dating Rue_. You knew it to be true and accepted it as fact. There weren't many ways to respond to such statements other than _of course_. Besides, Pique had been listening to Lilie recount her dreams since they were little girls. Surely she'd earned one day of half-attention over the years? "What was it about?"

Lilie didn't notice her lukewarm response. Or maybe she just chose to ignore it. Some days Pique was positive Lilie's ignorance was the result of willful determination rather than a lack of perception. A person couldn't be so blissfully unaware of other people's reactions, not when that same person could predict impending humiliation and embarrassment with alarming accuracy. It simply wasn't possible.

"I was dancing in the streets."

Pique laughed. "Maybe you were practicing for the recital." It was still a few weeks away, and they had yet to hold auditions - those were in a few days - but it wouldn't be the first time a dancer had dreamed about an upcoming performance. Even Lilie.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it.

"I was a giant raven."

"You dreamed you were a bird?" Had Pique heard that right? "Isn't there a story that goes like this?"

Lilie dismissed the questions with a wave of her hand. "You were with me too, you know."

Wonderful. She hated being included in Lilie's dreams. They were always so strange. Still, she liked knowing what her dream-self had been up to. Trying not to sound too curious, she asked, "Was I also a bird?"

"Of course," Lilie replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We were all ravens. We were even fighting a bird." She paused. "Although I guess she was a duck, not a raven. And not even a full-grown duck either, just a duckling."

"We were giant ravens fighting a duckling by dancing?" It was true that Lilie had told Pique many stories over the years, some from her dreams, most merely fantasies she entertained during the day, but this was something new.

Pique didn't think she liked it.

"You don't need to make it sound so stupid." Lilie huffed. "You haven't even heard the ending yet."

"We all died."

Lilie stopped and whirled to face her, eyes bright, golden curls bouncing. "How'd you know?" The expression on her face would have been comical if it weren't for the fact that all of her stories ended the same way, time after time, without fail.

Guilt pricked Pique's conscience. It wasn't Lilie's fault she was so predictable. Not really. She shrugged to hide her discomfort. "Lucky guess."

"If you say so." Lilie looked at her doubtfully, and then frowned. "Why are you standing all the way over there anyway? Do I smell?" She sniffed her arm, and then shook her head.

"What are you talking about...?" Pique trailed off when she realized Lilie was right. A gap separated them, the most inseparable of friends, and she had no idea why. They'd merely fallen in step like always, as they did morning after morning on their way to class. There was no reason for there to be that large of a gap between them, especially when that gap was person-sized.

Unease ran down Pique's spine. It was almost as if someone was meant to walk between them, but the thought was silly. It'd always been just the two of them, for as long as Pique could remember. Lilie and Pique, gold and red, whimsy and practical, the best of friends. This was the story of their lives.

Still, Pique couldn't help but frown as she closed the space between them. She felt like she was missing something important and for some reason, the thought made her sad.

* * *

><p>Pique never told Lilie but at night she had dreams too.<p>

They weren't like Lilie's dreams, of course. Pique never dreamed tragic stories of loves lost: of the mermaid losing the prince to another and dissolving into foam at sunrise, of the sister cutting off her toes to fit into a glass slipper even though the prince would ultimately choose a girl clothed in cinder, of a princess turning into a speck of light all for a prince who never returned her love.

Those weren't the wishes she held secret in her heart. Those weren't the dreams that gave voice to her deepest desires.

Instead she dreamt of the sister who used her wits to trick the witch into climbing into a hot oven, of the girl who rescued her lover from a castle east of the sun and west of the moon, of the sisters who helped an injured bear to be rewarded later with marriage to a prince and his brother.

And sometimes, _sometimes_, Pique dreamt of a duck who turned into a girl who turned into a princess to restore a prince's heart. The mornings after she dreamt that particular dream were always the most disorienting, for she never quite remembered how it ended. Oh, she knew how the storybook tale went, that the princess turned into a speck of light and vanished, but in her dreams that wasn't how it ended. At least she didn't think so.

And more importantly, that wasn't what mattered.

Because in her dreams, the duck who turned into a girl who turned into a princess chose her fate.

* * *

><p>Pique was paging through a worn volume of fairy tales when Lilie slid into the chair across from her. She considered ignoring the other girl but dismissed the thought the moment it entered her mind. You couldn't ignore Lilie, not even if you tried. She was like the sun - even when you didn't think about it, you always knew where it was. Its presence was just that pervasive.<p>

It was a good thing Pique made the decision she did, because it appeared Lilie had some news of her own to share. She practically vibrated with the excitement of holding it in. "Did you hear? Can you believe it? Do you think it's true?" The words tumbled out, one after another, like a rock slide. It was miracle she didn't choke, the words spilled out so quickly.

Thankfully, Pique had spent many, many years listening to Lilie talk and could decipher what lesser people would consider gibberish. She marked her spot on the page and looked up. "What exactly have I heard and believe is true?"

Lilie leaned forward conspiratorially, casting sideway glances in an obvious attempt to make sure no one else was listening. Pique didn't quite understand the point of the exercise because Lilie proceeded to announce in the loudest whisper she'd ever had the misfortune to hear, "Mytho and Rue had a fight."

Pique waited.

Lilie beamed back at her, dimpling and pleased with her declaration.

Pique waited another beat. And yet another, just to be very sure. When the other girl merely regarded her with calm eyes, there was no stopping the horrible thought that bloomed. Or voicing the question that followed on its heels. "Is that it?"

The sun in Lilie's face clouded over and the bright smile faltered. "Well, yes." She apparently hadn't anticipated Pique's less-than-excited reaction, but she recovered quickly. Pique had to give her that. An inability to be deterred was one of Lilie's strong points, after all. "What do you mean _is that it_?" she demanded. "Mytho and Rue had a fight!"

"So?" Pique failed to see what the big deal was. "People fight all the time."

But judging by Lilie's bug-eyed expression, not to mention the hushed whispers coming from the people around them, she was the only one to think this normal.

"Not Mytho and Rue," Lilie insisted. "Have you ever seen them fight?" Pique tried to answer, but the other girl spoke right over her without interruption. "No! Because Mytho is our prince and Rue is his perfect lady."

"Even if he were our prince - which he isn't - and even if she were his perfect lady - which, fine, I'll give you - princes do fight with their ladies too."

Lilie gasped. "No, they don't! How can you say that? The prince and his lady are supposed to live happily ever after. That's how these stories go!"

"This isn't a story. You can't expect them to act like they're in one. It's only common sense." Pique frowned at her. "I'm surprised at you. Shouldn't you be happy? I thought you liked unhappy couples."

"I do not." Lilie huffed. "Besides, it's no fun without... without..." Her brow furrowed. "Without..."

"Without who?" Pique asked.

But the stricken gleam in Lilie's eyes spoke the truth she couldn't say.

She didn't know.

And in her silence Pique found nothing but disquiet because something - that nagging voice in the back of her head maybe - _something_ told her the answer mattered, that it was important, and that, most of all, Pique should remember.

* * *

><p>She searched through volume after volume, book after book, tome after tome. Through pages both fresh and crisp, and old and beetle-eaten. Shelf after shelf, row after row. How many copies of the story about the prince and the raven did one town need anyway? It was a common story, and popular too, but even so, there was such a thing as excess.<p>

Still, Pique combed through each copy. The details varied slightly from version to version but in one way did they remain the same: the duck who turned into a girl who turned into a princess to restore a prince's heart always made one final transformation into a speck of light and vanished.

Pique wasn't sure why it mattered so much to her, the fate of a minor character in a story. After all, no one cared what happened to the duck who turned into a girl who turned into a princess. The story was about the prince and the raven and their epic battle. What did it matter that, without her, the prince would never have been able to face the raven in their final confrontation? She wasn't the one who defeated the raven. She wasn't the one to win the heart of the prince, even though it was the very same heart she'd worked so long and so hard to piece back together.

She wasn't the one who was remembered.

And that, in the end, was the very thing Pique couldn't accept.

* * *

><p>"Do you ever wonder what it'd be like to be a princess?"<p>

Lilie paused in mid-stretched, arms curved overhead, fingertips barely touching. Perhaps one day, with enough practice, those arms and those hands and those fingers would rival the grace that imbued advanced dancers like Rue. For now, though, like many others, like Pique herself, they were relegated to merely _average_ and _passing fair_ - the movements of a dancer who supported but never led. "What?"

Pique repeated her question.

Lilie dropped her arms, head tilted like a curious bird testing the seed in a feeder. "Of course."

But before she could launch into another barrage of tragic heroines who killed themselves because their princes chose to believe the lies of evil witches masquerading as harmless virgins, Pique shook her head. "No. Have you _really_ thought about what it meant?"

The other girl paused, breath catching in her throat. Pique could almost see the mental gears reversing direction while Lilie considered the question. It took a surprisingly long time. Then, slowly: "Sometimes."

Pique exhaled slowly, the unexplained tension in her spine easing. Lilie had spent her entire life, or at the very least as long as she could talk, drinking in the doomed fate of many an unlucky fairy tale heroine. How many times had she listened to Lilie wistfully sigh that she wished such stories were real so she could witness the disaster unfold before her eyes?

But not once, not one single time, had she ever sighed in envy that the girl got the chance to brave a sea witch's traps or sacrifice herself to the beast in place of her father.

Not once had she ever voiced the same secret desire that danced in Pique's heart: that she should be the star of her own story.

Lilie fidgeted when Pique didn't immediately reply, and her nervousness only increased the longer the silence grew. "Why?" she whispered back. For once, it was at the proper volume. Then again, she didn't want to risk the teacher's wrath.

"I think you should audition for the role of the princess."

Her blue eyes rounded. "I can't do that," she squeaked. "I'm not good enough."

"So you're just going to settle for the corps de ballet? Like always?"

"What's wrong with that? We always dance in the corps. Besides, I might mess up if I dance solo and then everyone will see."

Pique caught her breath. "But you might not and then everyone will see that too."

After all, nothing was without risk. The girl turned into sea foam with the sun's rise but it was because she chose not to kill the man she loved. The duck who turned into a girl who turned into a princess changed into a speck of light and vanished because to not do so would spell the prince's defeat. They knew their options and they made their choices.

Sometimes the happy ending wasn't the most important thing. Sometimes it was what took place before the finale that mattered more.

When Lilie didn't respond, she said, "I'm serious. You should."

She remained silent, but Pique didn't rush her. Some things you couldn't, not when they mattered like this. So she waited and let Lilie come to her own decision.

When she finally spoke, it was to ask, "What about you?"

"I'm auditioning for the princess too."

Her mouth dropped open. "But you just told me..." She shook her head. "We can't both be princesses."

"No," Pique agreed. "We can't, but that's all right."

Poor Lilie. The girl who soaked up other people's misery looked ready to burst into tears herself. "How? What's the point of auditioning if you know one of us is going to lose?"

"Stop focusing on that." She grabbed Lilie's hands. "Even if one of us doesn't get the part, we still _tried_. It's not the outcome that's the point. It's the stuff leading up to it." Pique softened her voice when she saw the other girl was looking at the floor. "Don't you think it'd be fun to audition?"

"This is like a story," Lilie muttered. "We're both going to die."

"No one ever died from an audition."

"Die, fail, it's the same thing." She raised her gaze to meet Pique's eyes. "It always hurts."

Pique couldn't deny the truth of her words. That was the reason why it was easier to watch other people's tragedies. You could sympathize without actually having to experience the pain yourself. She supposed it was why Lilie loved those kinds of stories so much. She could live through the story, and what better way was there to shield herself from life's barbs?

But it shielded her from life's glories as well.

"Everyone fails at least once in their lives." Pique tightened her grip on Lilie's hands. "And everyone dies. So you have to make the rest of it matter."

Because if you lived your life afraid of its inevitable ending, that wouldn't be much of a life at all. And it certainly wouldn't be the stuff of stories either, let alone stories people _remembered_.

After a moment, Lilie leaned forward and Pique held her breath. "What if neither of us get the part?"

Pique smiled. "We'll just have to practice hard to make sure that doesn't happen."

And in the back of her mind, in the part she didn't really acknowledge, Pique thought that somewhere a duck who'd once turned into a girl who'd once turned into a princess might have smiled.


End file.
